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“Sickeningly so. Why I’m glad I work across the country.”
Tristan snorted.
Hunter crossed to the kitchen. “Look at that. Chef boy remembered how to play busboy.”
“Fuck off.” Tristan tossed the dish towel onto the sparkling clean island. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you do this with me. Sticking me with the job so you could go make out with your wife. For shame, dickhead.”
“She smells prettier.”
Noah rocked back on his heels. “My brother’s got you there, Eves.”
Not better than his woman smelled. Tristan gripped the edge of the island counter top. Where the fuck had that thought come from? Sure, Jules smelled amazing, but her plum and spice scent wasn’t that original.
Right, asshole.
A look passed between Noah and Hunter. There was a small nod from Noah before he headed back into the living room.
“All right, what’s going on?”
Tristan frowned. “Did you just handle me via your brother?”
Hunter shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Christ, you really did turn into one of those smug married people I see in the restaurant.”
“Yeah, well, you’re acting just like me buddy. Pining after a lady? Who’s the lucky three-night-stand?”
Tristan forced his fingers to relax on the granite countertop. Nothing about Jules was in the three-night-stand category. Hell, he wished she did fit in those parameters. His life would be infinitely more simple.
As it was, he didn’t know if he really could say who he was seeing—even if he couldn’t define the relationship—but did he want to? Saying it out loud made it real. When they were in his loft, there was just them and skin. A combined focus with Randy to count the screams that rose out of Juliet’s talented throat. How did he share that with anyone?
Hey, I’m not into my best friend, but we like to share Juliet Reece.
Oh yeah, and I’m fucking terrified that I want more than just sex.
Yeah. How the hell was he supposed to voice any of that?
“I can see it on your face, Tris. What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “There’s a woman. I can’t say much more than that because of the situation, but there’s definitely a girl. And no, she’s not married. Get that thought out of your head right now, son.”
Hunter raised his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s not that—exactly.”
Hunter rested his hip against the counter. “That doesn’t sound complicated at all.”
Tristan raked his fingers through his overlong hair. “I’m getting hung up on her. I can feel it. It’s not smart in any way, but I’m having a damn hard time picturing my place without her.” Admitting it took what they had from a fantasy to reality. When he was in the moment, or when he was alone in his loft, it was easy to ignore the specifics.
But here, trying to define her—define them—was impossible. God, there wasn’t a word for it.
Ménage worked for the physical part, but the idea of a triad-based relationship in the real world wasn’t so easy. Especially when two parts of their threesome worked on the road more than eighty percent of the time, at least during a tour.
“Your place?” Hunter’s voice was incredulous. “Have you ever let a woman borrow a T-shirt for more than an hour?”
Tristan’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth to keep from saying something rude. But shit, how could he deny Hunter's insinuation? It was sterling truth. “It’s complicated."
Hunter leaned on the island, his hands splaying out as he stared intently at Tristan. “It’s only as complicated as you want it to be. I remember having the same problem.”
